


Take a Piece of Me

by misqueue



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Related, Comfort Sex, Drama, Erotica, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Heterosexual Sex, Multi, Romantic Friendship, Season/Series 04, klaine endgame, mild panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misqueue/pseuds/misqueue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The paths to understanding are varied; of course it never happened this way: a canon-inspired but very AU response to 4x06 "Glease".  Title from the lyrics to Seal's "Don't Cry". (Kurt/Blaine are endgame.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Piece of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Extra large thank you to calliopeoracle, luckyjak, the-multicorn, odd, and stultiloquentia for the patience, time, and care they've each taken for me and this story. Any remaining flaws are not due to their diligence. (Seriously, you guys, I want to buy you all cake; you're awesome. <3)

Rachel keeps her arm folded around his elbow as they wend their way through the slowly creeping lines of cars exiting the McKinley parking lot. As they walk, dodging reverse lights and mindful of the red flare of brakes, Kurt can feel Blaine's presence behind him. It sits between his shoulder blades like an irritable pressure he can't reach to dislodge, and he can feel Blaine's pain—sharp as his own, if still alien—between them. And he's helpless in the face of it. There's nothing he can do to ease it—nothing that would be honest anyway. If he turned back, took Blaine in his arms, and told him it was okay, it wouldn't be true. Kurt knows now, in a way he didn't before, that he's not okay yet; he wonders if this time he truly will be. He tells himself he will.

They don't talk much, he and Rachel. She lets go of him when they get to the car. He unlocks it and slides behind the wheel. In the passenger seat, Rachel is uncommonly quiet, fiddling with the heater controls; and Kurt, were he not wrapped in his own pain, would think to ask her about her own. But they are neither able to be outside themselves, so he concentrates on driving, and they share a sympathetic silence for the long dark drive to Columbus. She holds his hand on the airplane, and then tucks against his side in the backseat of the taxi from the airport.

.

It's past two AM by the time they get back to their apartment, and, with the heavy roll open of the door, the scents that welcome them—of old wood and fresh paint, of linseed oil and plaster, overlaid with faint traces of Rachel's coconut leave-in conditioner and the previous morning's coffee—are comfortably familiar. He looks at the the pale light dusting the gloomy shapes of their joint decorating ventures and the few boxes of items yet to be assigned places, and he knows he's home. The ache in his shoulders and spine from carrying himself so carefully for so long slumps out of him. Rachel's hand is warm between his shoulder blades as they enter.

They both want to shower before they go to bed. Kurt lets Rachel go first while he unpacks his overnight bag and practices breathing again. 

.

When she comes out, wrapped in her fluffy cherry cupcake robe, with watery red eyes that render her slightly less adorable than usual, Kurt is centered back within himself enough to ask, "What's wrong?" And then he goes to fill the kettle.

Rachel sniffles and swipes across her eyes with the cuff of her robe. "When I called Brody, _she_ answered." Kurt doesn't have to ask who "she" is; there's only one "she" for whom Rachel uses that tone.

"So, they were... together?" Kurt asks, spooning a dessert spoon of crushed chamomile flowers into the teapot.

"They were at her place, he was in her shower, they'd already—Oh, god, I'm so _stupid_ , Kurt."

He holds her while she cries, and he has no wisdom or good advice to offer, only sympathy.

.

Later, Kurt is not sleeping. His bed is simultaneously too stifling and too empty; the vacuum of absence and broken promises feels like it's going to suck him down into nothing from the inside out. Seeing Blaine has made him want things, things that are impossible now. His skin feels pulled taut, too sensitive and restless with the phantasmal irritation of nothing, nothing, and more nothing: of no touch possible but his own. He craves another's body, another mouth, another hand upon his aching splitting skin: someone to touch him and fill him back up with all the love and hope he's lost. Someone to soothe the terrible agitation prickling in the back of his brain and stinging his skin.

Kurt slides a hand down and cups over his cock. For all his wanting, he's barely half-hard. There's no comfort in his own touch. Making himself come just draws into sick contrast what he's lost; masturbation has become a parody of intimacy. If he's determined, he knows he can wrench an orgasm from himself, but there's little real pleasure during and no satisfaction after. Tonight, his touch-starved body's dogged memory of shared bliss, and his broken heart's yearning for affection may be more than he can endure alone.

The injury to his heart is something Kurt fears will not heal; it cannot _be_ fixed. He can only grow around it, absorb it. That surely takes time. But meanwhile, he's so tired of trying to imagine a new future for himself when the one he thought he could see so clearly has been a mirage of silly romantic fantasy. He wants some relief now. It is, after all, impossible to breathe in a vacuum. He can't even hold his breath when there's no air to hold. He wants something to ease the ache, some good feelings—kindness, attention, sensual indulgence—to fill in some of the chasm in his chest, to calm the nettle burn upon his skin. It's something that no longer exists, except...

Something not entirely unlike it may, and Kurt's heart trips a beat. He may only need to reach for it.

The invisible weight on his chest presses even more heavily as he wonders. Kurt remembers the tenderness of Rachel's hands, the warm press of her, the increasingly familiar comfort of her in his arms. When she touches him, it helps him breathe, and right now he's suffocating.

Would she...? (He thinks she would.) Could he?

Kurt stares up at the dark canopy of his ceiling. They've become closer since coming to New York. He knows her now, more than her dreams, even more than her fears. He knows her details. He knows exactly how to make her laugh on a bad day, knows how dark she likes her toast, the precise amount of lemon and honey in her tea. Knows how to stay out her way for the first hour she's up in the morning and to allow her enough time in the bathroom every night. Knows how to read her texts to determine whether he needs to have dinner waiting for her in the evening or whether it's best to have dessert ready first. And she knows how to read his texts to know when she needs to make it home first to meet him with take-out, cheesecake, and just the right movie queued up on Netflix.

He understands the shape of the break in her heart that Finn left, has held her while she has cried more nights than he can easily count. Has seen through her determined optimism because she’s let him. They've told each other secrets. He's confessed his daydreams of his wedding and honeymoon to her, the ones that he kept from Blaine so they could be surprises one day—the ones that taunt him now. They've come to share so much affection and care, surely sharing more—touch for comfort, for pleasure, for release—is not too gross an extension of their friendship and love. For Kurt doesn't doubt that he loves her, and though Rachel doesn't set a passionate blaze in his soul, she gives him other things that matter too. For tonight they may matter more.

He gets up and scuffs barefoot across the always dusty (no matter how frequently they clean) floorboards toward Rachel's partition. This is, perhaps, a terrible idea. But it's Rachel and neither of them is a stranger to the other's terrible ideas. The risk is negligible next to the pain of further neglect. At worst, they'll laugh about it one day. He can already imagine it, Rachel giggling and making him roll his eyes and reminding him, "Do you remember that night you wanted to have sex with me?" and he'll say, depending on how this goes, "I know you remember, you told me it was the best you'd ever had," or, "I don't know what I was thinking, thank god you turned me down." And maybe, either way, he'll smile and say, "Of course I remember, you were such a good friend to me that night."

He knocks on the edge of the wooden pillar and says her name softly.

Her response is immediate, soft and clear. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't asleep either. Kurt draws back the curtain and slips through into the ghostly light of her room.

"Hey," Kurt says, and he sits gingerly upon the edge of her bed, near where her knees are tucked up close to her body. The candy-sweet fruity floral scent of her perfume is strongest in here. It's the same perfume he remembers from the very first time he was ever in Rachel's bedroom: " _...where Holly Hobby and Strawberry Shortcake come to hook-up_ ," he'd said. He's tried to tell her over the years that Britney Spear's Fantasy is not an appropriate signature scent for any girl over fourteen, but Rachel doesn't change it. He's so used to it now, it's become another of the scents that smells like home.

In the gloom, her eyes glitter and follow his movements. "Do you want to watch a movie?" she asks quietly. It's the usual activity for their nights of shared insomnia.

"No," Kurt says, but he can't quite bring himself to say what he does want, to hold and be held, to touch and be touched—to feel a love that hasn't been crumpled up and tossed aside like it was nothing. There's only his desperation, laced like vines, squeezing around his feeble heart.

Kurt takes a deep breath that feels like knives. "No, I was just lonely," he says.

"Yeah," Rachel says heavily, and then she hesitates for a moment before scooting up against her pillows, arms folded loosely across her chest.

"I can go if—"

"No, Kurt. Stay. We can talk if you need to talk." She reaches out to him, the fingers of her hand splayed across his upper arm with gentle pressure. It's generous of her to offer. He knows Rachel is done talking about Finn—and Brody, too, for now. She's likely not in the mood to hear him go on about Blaine again and still. Kurt leans into her touch, grateful for her willingness to listen should he wish to talk.

But Kurt is fairly certain he's talked himself out over Blaine, talked himself in endless circles of anger, of betrayal, of grief, looking for a way out or through that he's not yet found. He wants the opposite of that right now. "I don't want to talk, not about him," he says. He turns toward her, takes her hand from his arm into his own. Squeezes. "But may I ask you something?"

"Of course, anything," she says. "I'm here for you."

There's a question Kurt knows he's going to ask, but it sets a peculiar lightness in his head, like he's shifting out of his own body, observing himself as his numb lips shape into words the sounds his lungs force up. "Do you remember when you said you wished you were my boyfriend?"

Rachel's hand twitches in his grasp, but she doesn't pull away. She's quiet for a long time.

"What are you asking me, Kurt?" she finally says, and he can't read her voice.

"Did you mean it?" he asks, because that's as far as he can explain himself. He needs her to leap to an understanding and meet him where he is.

Then, "Yes," she says. "I meant it."

"You did," he says.

"If I were your boyfriend, our romance would be epic. We would be the great loves of each other's lives. A love for the ages."

It's narcissistic, melodramatic, and terribly presumptuous. Very Rachel. Kurt bows his head and laughs softly, strokes her hand. He wonders, and it's not actually the first time, how he would feel about Rachel if she were a boy. Would he love her differently than he does now? Would she _be_ very different?

"Say something," Rachel says. "You can't just laugh and not say anything once I've told you something like that, Kurt. It's not fair."

"I—" he says and looks down at her hand in his, rubs his thumb over the gloss of her short varnished nails. He doesn't know what to say. He definitely doesn't know what to do. He's never had to (or needed to) outright ask for physical affection, and Rachel is forthcoming enough most of the time. He doesn't even know if he can articulate exactly what it is that he wants.

"You...?" She prompts and sighs, not unkindly, and takes her hand back. She reaches for her lamp and, with a click, golden light blankets them. With her face scrubbed clean of makeup and her hair in loose braids for sleeping, she looks younger, more like high school. "You're being kind of weird, Kurt." She sounds slightly accusatory, like high school, too, and suddenly there's nothing firm beneath his feet, and he's not feeling terribly much like an adult.

"I'm sorry," he says. With the light on, his emotions feel overexposed and warped into a strange exaggeration of his intentions. Kurt runs his hands down his thighs and presses his lips together. He relaxes and sighs. "I should go—"

"No," Rachel says, leaning toward him and reaching out again, her hand upon his thigh. She's determined. "You came in here for a reason and you asked me that for a reason. So you owe it to me to tell me. What's going on? Did something else happen with Bl—"

"No," Kurt says quickly. "Not really. I mean, I'd hoped..." Kurt shakes his head. He honestly cannot remember what his specific hope had been, it vanished so completely upon actually being in Blaine's presence. He thought he'd feel better, but he doesn't. "I'm just _lonely_ ," he says, trying to make the word mean what he wants it to mean. "I don't want to talk about him." He takes her hand upon his thigh and lays it over his own, palm to palm, puts his other hand over her knuckles.

Rachel eyes him warily. "You know I can't actually be your boyfriend, right?"

"I know," Kurt says, because he does. But Kurt also knows Rachel loves him, and he knows very well the particular ways she can—and occasionally does—hurt him. He knows he can take it. "I just need someone, and you—" His voice cuts out with a small hiccup of frustration at being so confused, so desperate. He doesn't _like_ it, needing something this way. Kurt presses her hand between his, feels the warmth of her palm, the delicate bones of her fingers. Closing his eyes he gives in to the ache, just a little; he draws her hand up to lay it high upon his chest, above his heart. He holds it there, and he inhales.

Her fingertips curl over his collarbone, and her thumb skids over the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "Okay," Rachel says quietly. "I feel like that sometimes, too."

Kurt opens his eyes. "You do?" He asks, not because he's surprised, not after the way Rachel has been clinging to him tonight—as much for her own comfort as for his—but because he wants to be sure they're speaking of the same thing.

"Well, yeah." Rachel hitches one shoulder up in a lopsided shrug and tilts her head shyly. She's looking at her hand on his chest; her fingers press more firmly. "I get lonely for another person who cares for me, for that... physical connection. I miss it. And I thought Brody was going to be someone who was special. But that was _so_ foolish, and now? I guess I'm here..." Rachel falls back against her pillows, and her palm is like a magnet, bringing Kurt with her until he's leaning over her, bracing himself up on his other arm. "With you," she says, smiling tentatively.

"I care for you," he says, and the gravity of his words settles upon them both. Kurt sees it reflected in Rachel's gaze. He gives in to the impulse, shifts his hand over hers to curl his fingers beneath; he brings her hand up to his lips, presses a kiss to her knuckles.

She gazes up at him with wide eyes. He looks right back and tries to match her smile.

"Kurt, I'm talking about sex." Her voice drops to a whisper and her eyes flick to his lips. "...are you?" She retrieves her hand from his grasp and lightly touches his hair above his ear.

He can't speak, can only nod, and then Rachel is pulling him down until their lips are scant millimeters apart and their breath mingles between them. There's nothing left within Kurt to stop him crossing that remaining distance: he presses his mouth to hers. She hesitates a fraction of a second longer, and then she's kissing him back with ardor.

Kurt doesn't expect fireworks, and there aren't any. Not for him, anyway. But it is something more than what he expected. Her lips are soft, her breath hot, and it makes Kurt's heart beat harder, sudden and strong, like he's just been revived. She's only the second person he's kissed with genuine desire in his heart, and while his desire for Rachel is different—complicated—it's no less powerful a thing. He closes his eyes.

When her tongue slips along the seam of his lips, he stiffens and begins to recoil, instinctively resisting. But he doesn't want to resist. He wants to give in, wants to know that he can still do this, even if it's not everything. It's still so much more than nothing. Kurt breaks the kiss to breathe, but he doesn't open his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asks.

There's no simple answer Kurt can give. He makes himself open his eyes and look at her. "This is weird," he admits.

"Bad weird?"

"Just weird."

Rachel blinks slowly. "Did you like kissing me?"

"Yes, but..." He looks at her, lying beneath him, looking girlish and young and somehow so small. It makes him feel abruptly, in contrast, too large, too old, and too much like a caricature of a man he isn't instead of the man he is. "Can we sit up?" he asks.

Rachel nods, and he shifts, giving her room to clamber out from under her covers and sit cross-legged beside him. He turns and kneels opposite her. He moves his hand to the end of one of her braids, takes hold of the band. "May I?"

"Yes," Rachel says.

He carefully pulls the bands off and unravels her braids, working his fingers through to loosen the strands. "Did you like kissing me?" he asks her as he watches his fingers drag through her hair, trying not to cause snarls or pull too hard. It's like the opposite of one of their sleepovers when he would be doing the braiding. This is his first time undoing her hair.

"Hmm," Rachel says with mock thoughtfulness and a quirk to her smile. "You're easily in the top five guys I've kissed—"

"Including me, Rachel, you've only kissed like... six guys." Kurt does his best not to think too much about the other names on that list.

"Yes, well, this is true. But you've got nice lips, smooth, firm, and strong, not at all sloppy or rough or too wet, but you could stand to relax a little more with your technique."

That makes Kurt smile. "Noted," he says.

"So... tell me what you like. In bed," Rachel says, reaching for him and pulling at the front of his t-shirt playfully.

"Um," Kurt says.

Grinning, Rachel rolls her eyes. "If I'm going to be your grand experiment to see what it's like with a woman, I want to make it as good for you as I can."

Kurt's fingers still. He looks at her. "Is that what you think this is?"

"It's not?"

"It's not."

"Then what?"

"It's you and me... sharing something."

"Something?"

Kurt isn't certain they speak the same language about this. He doubts he can explain it to her so that she will understand it the same way he does, and he doesn't want to name it lest she misunderstand, so he simply replies, "Yes." He’s content for Rachel to have her own reasons. They don't have to be the same.

"Okay," Rachel says. She sounds skeptical, but her smile is encouraging. "Kiss me again," she says.

Kurt kisses her, burying one hand into her loosened hair to cup the back of her head. He takes more care, putting as much honest desire into it as he can summon, kissing her with a slow thoroughness as if she is the one he wants most. When he withdraws from the kiss, she is bright-eyed and breathing quickly through parted lips.

"Wow," she says. And Kurt is gratified he can make Rachel feel like this. It bolsters his confidence, and he feels a curl of heat lick low in his belly; his pulse comes heavier between his legs. It feels good, simpler.

He leans back in, kisses her again, deeper, harder; swallows a startled sound when he touches her, down her bare arms and then to her waist and then up over the soft material of her camisole until he meets swell of the underside of her breasts. He molds his hands to their shape, and something about the fit of the firm, weighted curve of her flesh in his hands is unexpectedly compelling, but he can't tell if it's erotic or aesthetic, only that he likes it. He brushes over her nipples with his thumbs, finds them already stiff. The whimper Rachel makes against his lips, that's definitely erotic. She pulls back from the kiss with a shiver. "Kurt," she says hoarsely. "Do you _really_ want to do this?"

"Yes," he says, lowering his gaze to his hands upon her breasts. "Yes," he repeats.

"Okay," she says. "So do I." Rachel grabs at him over his t-shirt, leaning closer and rocking forward to her knees. And then her hands are moving down, finding the hem of his t-shirt and sliding up under it, hot upon his bare skin, gathering it up, tugging impatiently. "Off," she says. It's surprisingly forceful.

His t-shirt comes off, and Kurt glances away. He steadfastly ignores a surge of modesty as she looks over his bared torso critically, as if evaluating his worthiness to be in her bed. He knows he doesn't look anything like the boys Rachel likes. He's no Brody; he's too pale and... slim to be her type. Which shouldn't matter because this isn't about animal magnetism or whatever, but there's the sudden flash of a memory: humiliation on the stage and Rachel, as Juliet, laughing in his face. It was a long time ago, and he's forgiven the hurt—had mostly forgotten it until this very moment—but he doesn't want a repeat of that.

Kurt catches her hand as she reaches for him, keeps his gaze off her, aimed at the wall. "Please don't laugh at me," he says. " _With_ me is fine, but I know I'm not what you really want—"

"Kurt." She sighs.

He slides his gaze to their clasped hands. The certainty of a moment ago twists into unwanted doubt. What was he thinking? This is an awful idea. He relaxes his hand to let go. They can, neither of them, be what—or whom—the other wants.

Rachel tightens her grip, doesn't let him pull away. "Look at me," Rachel says.

Kurt takes a shaky breath and looks. She's smiling, and there's warmth in her gaze. It's gentle, open. She's never looked at him like this before. "How could you ever think I wouldn't want you?" she asks, the slightest tremor in her voice. "I know what this isn't. I know I can't be the love of your life, but if I can be the one for you _right now_? I will be, happily. Whatever you need."

Kurt nods and blinks the sudden sting from his eyes. "Okay," he says.

"Okay," she echoes.

Then she asks him to lie back, and she presses him back as he goes, her hands sure upon his chest and something giddy in her smile. Kurt falls back to his elbows, watching her. She straddles his hips and then pulls her camisole off.

She pauses with her bottom lip caught between her teeth and her arms drawn tight against her sides. It's a strange relief to see her uncertain too.

"You're beautiful," he reassures, because he knows she has insecurities about things like her breasts, and anyway, it's true. She is beautiful.

"Really?" She makes a face. He knows that face.

"Rachel Berry, are you fishing for a compliment?"

"No," she denies, but Kurt sees the sly hint of her smile. "I just want to be sure you're not, you know, put off."

Kurt snorts a laugh. "I'm not blind. Yours may be an unconventional beauty, but you are destined to redefine what it means to be a classic beauty. You'll be our generation's Audrey," he says.

Rachel's smile widens and she gives him her flirtatious head tilt and shoulder twist combination. He's watched her practice it enough in the mirror; it's peculiar to be on the receiving end of it. "Flattery will get you... pretty much anything you want right now," she says.

Kurt laughs, and she joins him, her laughter like summer birdsong. He loves her laugh. Seeing her relaxed and smiling, he reaches and puts his hands on her bare breasts, caressing along the yielding rounded sides of them, admiring the paler hue of her skin here and how it contrasts with the dusky coral of her nipples. "I, actually... They're neat," he says.

She grins and cocks an eyebrow. "I guess it's good they're not too big, huh?"

Kurt shrugs, squeezes a little as he gently scrapes his thumb nails just beneath her nipples. She shivers and her eyelids flutter. "They're just right," he says, cups one hand over her breast. "A perfect handful."

"Oh my God, Kurt," Rachel says, laughing. "You _like_ my boobs."

Kurt huffs his amusement. "I promise I’ll never send you boob related text messages."

"Of course not, you'd never be so vulgar."

"No..." he says as his smile fades and he lets his hands slide down to her waist as he raises his gaze from her breasts to her face. Her smile fades too.

"So we're doing this, huh?" she says, leaning over him until her loose hair drapes his bare chest and Kurt feels her breath on his lips. He slides his hands up to cup behind her upper arms. There's heat in her gaze, unmistakable. It makes Kurt's breath come faster. Being wanted is apparently enough to incite the well-missed burn of arousal beneath his skin.

Kurt moistens his lips. "Yeah," he says, a little high, a little breathy. "I guess we are."

"I'm going to kiss you now," she says.

"All right."

She kisses him, and it feels nice, even better as he relaxes into it and she lowers herself down against him.

There's definitely something erotic about the drag of her nipples across his bare chest, the warmth of skin pressed to skin. The hot press of her pelvis coming down against his groin is a much less ambiguous thrill. Kurt brings his arms around her and rocks his hips up to find some friction. He's sliding his hands down to her backside to help guide her movements, to try to understand how to fit them together better, when she withdraws from the kiss.

"You should know," Rachel says, breathless and with just a hint of her old Captain of the New Directions voice, "I appreciate a lot of foreplay, so don't think we're skipping directly to the intercourse."

"Understood," Kurt says, and though it's funny, he doesn't laugh because she's assuming something he isn't. "We don't have to— I mean, I don't expect intercourse. We can do other stuff." He tries to pull her back down. "Like this," he says pressing his erection up against the heat between her legs. They can just do this. This is fine.

But Rachel resists his pull; she frowns in confusion. "I thought you wanted to have sex."

"I do, but it doesn't have to be that."

"So do you not like to... _pitch_? I don't mean to be indelicate, but do you prefer to, um, _catch_?"

And with that the moment is gone.

"Rachel, good grief," Kurt says and lets go of her to cover his face with his hands. This is not the conversation he wants to have right now. He doesn't want to think about the sex he's had in the past, because all of it was with Blaine, and he never thought he'd be doing this with anyone _but_ Blaine, and it's just—

"It's okay, Kurt. I'm not scandalized in the least. In fact..." She moves away, and Kurt hears the drawer of her nightstand. "I have a dildo, I can use it on you. If that's what you li—"

"No!" Kurt interrupts. "Please... stop talking for a minute." He lowers his hands from his burning face. Sees the dildo in her hand; it's hot pink and sparkly. Of course it is. "And please, put that away."

"Okay...?" she says with a shrug.

"I love you, Rachel, but the last thing I want right now is your sparkly pink dildo up my ass."

She blinks at him wide-eyed. Hurt?

"I mean, I appreciate your... generosity, but..." he trails off helplessly, abruptly close to tears.

"Did you and Blaine never—"

And that's not the issue at all; he and Blaine did pretty much everything they could think of, including things they didn't even know how to name, and Kurt never would've done most of it if he'd known it was going to end up this way. If he'd even suspected, he would have never. But he never did suspect Blaine would ever; he never saw the danger. "I don't want to talk about him," Kurt says, more bitterly than he means to. "I don't even want to think about him right now."

"Then tell me what you do want, Kurt."

"I want to... _not_ talk. I just want to feel better for a little while and forget about... him." There's a thick swell of nausea in Kurt's stomach as he wonders if Blaine was this ready to forget. Kurt closes his eyes and tries to take a deep breath. He's so tired of the endless cycling of his brain over things he cannot change. He wants his world to not feel so broken and wrong, like he woke up that day in an alternate universe where Blaine is a cruel stranger who wounds him instead of the boy who treated his heart like something sacred.

"All right," Rachel says, her mouth set with determination. "I want you to lie back and..." Her voices goes softer, more tender. "I'll make you feel better, Kurt."

Kurt nods and lowers himself the rest of the way back into Rachel's pillows.

Rachel shifts from over him to beside him, reaches to run her fingers through his hair and cup his cheek. "You trust me, right?"

"Yes," Kurt whispers, and knows how valuable the truth of that is.

"You can close your eyes if you want to," she says.

He doesn't close his eyes; he has a pretty good idea of what he'll see if he does.

She kisses across his cheek and temple as she pets his hair. Then she kisses down his neck, hesitating for variable intervals between each kiss, as if allowing him time to change his mind. She doesn't use her tongue or teeth or linger open-mouthed in any of the several places Kurt is most sensitive. It's more ticklish than anything. He wonders if she's afraid of startling him, or if she just doesn't know. Her hand runs down his arm, over his bicep and then across to his torso.

"Rachel," he says taking her hand where it's come to rest upon his ribcage.

She lifts her head. "Is this not working for you?"

Giving Rachel criticism is a delicate thing. She's good at doling out frank comments, but less good at receiving them. "It feels good, but you don't need to be so... tentative. I'm not going to freak out."

She frowns as she nods.

"May I show you?" he asks.

Her lips part around a sharp intake of breath. "Yes," she says.

Kurt rolls toward her, pressing her back with a hard kiss to her lips and dragging her hand upon his ribs higher up his chest. He trails his lips to her jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses along the line of it toward her ear. He lets his teeth scrape down her neck and then sucks a long kiss against her throat, feels her moan vibrate beneath his lips. Encouraged, he makes his way down past her collarbones with his mouth, interspersing little flicks of his tongue and gentle bites with soft kisses, and he draws her thumb to his nipple, guides it over and around.

"Oh, you're... ah, um... sensitive here?" Rachel asks, and her touch firms beneath his as she understands what he wants.

"Aren't you?" Kurt asks between kisses. She pinches with her fingertips, firmly enough to send a hot spark down to his groin, and Kurt hums his approval against her breastbone.

"Well, yes, of course but—" She lets out a shivery gasp, and he mouths the yielding mound of one of her breasts.

"I like it," Kurt cuts her off, because he meant it when he said he didn't want to talk, no more than what's necessary. He's focused on doing this other thing: kissing and touching Rachel, and she's touching him, and it's starting to feel pretty damn good, the way she's responding to him, and he to her. He makes a wet circuit of her areola with the tip of his tongue before he seals his lips around her nipple and sucks.

"Oh!" she says, arching up to his mouth. And then she starts giggling. It's joyful and uninhibited, but Kurt doesn't pause, just flicks his gaze up to her face to see her smile and redoubles his attention.

It's not long before she's twisting against him restlessly, making little "Mmm's" and "Aah's" and saying his name with need in her voice. "Kurt," she says, "Could you..." She's letting go of him and pushing one of his hands down to the smooth curve of her lower belly, to the waistband of her pajama pants. "Please?"

He doesn't permit himself hesitation or doubt. He reminds himself that billions of men have done something like this with less knowledge and experience than he has. It's not brain surgery; it's sex.

That doesn't mean his hands aren't shaking as he kneels up and takes hold of her pajamas to pull them, along with her panties, down her hips and off. He tosses them aside and lets his gaze come back up the svelte length of her legs, past her pressed-together thighs, to the tidy triangle of dark hair at their junction. Then he skips his gaze back up to her face. She's flushed and clearly anxious. He doesn't know if it's modesty or something else.

"You too?" she asks in a small voice and gestures at his bottom half.

Kurt nods and stands up. He strips off his remaining clothing, pleased and relieved that he's sustained an erection though all the nervousness. He really doesn't want to disappoint Rachel.

He turns back to the bed and finds Rachel is now sitting up, her eyes on his body—or, more precisely, on his cock. "Oh, Kurt," she says. "You—"

"Surprised I have one?" he asks dryly.

She blinks her eyes wider. "No! You're just, uhh..."

"Naked?"

"...really, um... gorgeous." She reaches for him but hesitates, her hand hovering the the air between them. She wants to touch him, and Kurt definitely wants her to.

Kurt takes her hand and gets back on the bed. He arranges his legs, loosely bent, either side of her and leans back on one arm. He sets her hand upon his thigh. "Go ahead," he says. "You can touch me."

She nods, and her eyes blaze. Kurt stares as she comes forward, between his legs and skims her hand down the sensitive thin skin of of his inner thigh. She brushes her thumb over his balls, a light, searing touch, and then she wraps her hand around his shaft. It's smaller than he's used to, but snug and confident.

"Okay?" she asks.

"Oh, yes," Kurt says, nods, and bites down on his bottom lip as she drags her fist up the length of him. She squeezes a little over the head and then comes back down. Back up again and down and up and down, and Kurt lets his eyes slip closed and his mouth falls open around a pleasure weighted moan. It's been so long; it feels _so good_.

"I'm probably not as good at this as Bl—"

"You're doing... ah... really well," Kurt says, leans back and rocks his hips up to meet her next downward stroke. A familiar tension is drawing together in his belly already. He can definitely get off like this. "Just... keep going, please. It's good."

"Yeah?" she asks, sounding very pleased with herself. But then she stops, and then she _lets go_.

" _Rachel_ —" Kurt opens his eyes, about to protest, only to see her moving, leaning down, taking him in a new, firmer grip around the root of his cock, lifting it and glancing up at him, while she lowers her head, moistens her lips.

He says, "Oh, god, you really don't have to... " They've talked about sex enough in the past for him to know that this isn't something Rachel has done often—or even always relished doing.

"You smell good," she says, as if that's an explanation. "I really want to." And then she does. Her dark lips press, plush and parted, just beneath the head of his cock, her tongue flicks out pink, and Kurt isn't sure he can bear to keep looking. But he can't look away either. Mercifully her eyelashes are lowered.

"Oh, Jesus," he says, as she hitches up, changes the angle, and then sinks back down, sucking the tip of his cock between her lips. It's more intimacy than he's expected—certainly far more than he would've asked her for. But it's irresistibly good to feel the hot, wet slide of a mouth descending his length. "Rachel," he whispers, groans. His hand is shaking as he brings it to her hair, brushing back the long heavy fall of it where it threatens to tangle with her mouth. His shock transforms to gratitude.

Kurt watches her take more of his cock through the taut stretch of her lips, into the bliss of the rhythmic pulse of her tongue. He winds his fingers into her hair carefully, holding it and cupping his palm around the curve of her skull behind her ear. "Sweetie," he murmurs. He would have never imagined Rachel being so good at this.

At that, her gaze comes up to meet his, and Kurt can't even blink. She holds his gaze as she sucks harder, sinks down farther with each bob, and hums as she goes. And it's _Rachel_ , doing this for him— _caring_ enough to. He knows she can see the pleasure slackening his jaw and glazing his eyes. Knows, too, how aware she is that she's the cause of it. There's heat coalescing in his balls, drawing them up tight, and Kurt knows he's unlikely to last long like this.

Which makes him understand something else. "Wait..." he says with a gasp. "I don't want to come in your mouth," he says in a rush. He can't remember if she's okay with that sort of thing. He's pretty sure that he isn't, not with her.

She pulls off him, leaving him aching and panting with sweat prickling across his skin. Kurt can't make sense of the way she's looking at him: so intense and hungry and still so very open.

"Just... use your hand," he says, lifting his hips. "I'm pretty close."

Rachel shakes her head. "No, actually, I—I'd really like it if you would... if you would fuck me, Kurt," she says softly.

Kurt nods before he's fully processed the question. He likes to fuck, fucking is good; easily as good as blow jobs.

"If you can wait?"

"Yeah," he says and sits up to clear his head. He does remember what she said about foreplay. So he kisses her deep and a little messy—which she seems to like—and presses her back into her pillows. He kisses from her mouth down the the salty damp skin of her throat, and gets her hair stuck to his lips and face. Kurt slides one hand down over her breast, her ribs, her soft belly, and across the curve of her hip. She opens her thighs readily, and he cups his hand between her legs.

Beneath his hand, she's hot, hotter than he imagined. And wet, which he did expect, but actually feeling it is overwhelming in a this-is-really-happening sort of way. Cautiously, he presses with his fingers, finding the slippery swollen edges of her, and gradually working between her labia, seeking... He tries to recall the diagrams from health class in his mind. The prospect of being one of those bumbling men who can't even find a girl's clitoris? He's been in the room for some of those conversations. He's not going to be _that_ guy.

Kurt lifts his head, carefully picking Rachel's hair from his face. "I hope you appreciate that I have little idea of what I'm doing," he says, sliding his middle and index fingers from the slick center of where her flesh parts to the top. "So please feel free to offer guidance... helpful tips."

Rachel laughs until her breath cuts out with a sudden huff. It's unmistakeable, the small erect shape beneath the pads of his fingertips. "Here?" he asks, pausing to rub lightly over it, to be sure.

"Ah... yes." Rachel pinches her eyes shut and tilts her hips up into his touch. Her cheeks are scarlet, her brow furrowed, and Kurt cannot look away from her face. "Kurt," she says. "You can... Mmm. Harder."

"Okay," he says. He both firms and quickens the movement of his fingers, though he's certain he lacks finesse.

He's not wrong. Rachel grunts out a noise of mild dissatisfaction and opens her eyes, snaring his gaze with her glassy one. "Just a little... _slower_ ," she says, rocking up against his hand to suggest the speed. "At least at first," she says with a shuddering exhale. "And a little higher..."

"Yeah, okay, you can tell me, Rachel," Kurt says and watches her face, sees how her mouth comes open around a pleased sigh. There's something gratifying about being able to do this for his most beloved friend on a night when they may both need a little extra love. A peculiar tenderness aches in his heart, and his breath comes faster between his words. "Tell me how to make you feel good."

"You can... ah... fingers inside, if you want."

"Okay," Kurt says, and he tries that. Her body gives, so slippery and hot, to the press of his fingers. She twists against his hand and utters a noise identical to the one she made upon her first bite of the local bakery’s _Torta al Cacao_ , so he must be doing something right. He slides the pad of his thumb up to her clit, rubs little circles as he presses up with the fingers inside, and her moan deepens to a groan. "Is that—"

"Yes, mmm, can you move?"

"Right," Kurt says. He glances down her body, but he can't see much of what his hand is doing. There must be a way to coordinate the movement of his fingers inside Rachel with his thumb. He does his best, shifting his hand against her, gentle thrusts and strokes. Mostly, he tries to keep a steady rhythm. Rachel moves against him, encouraging; he lets her set the pace, and just tries to keep up.

It seems like she's getting wetter; little squelches come around the work of his fingers. Rachel's panting and making soft whimpery whines, and Kurt's surprised he can hear much over the pounding blood in his ears. She's becoming so caught up in her pleasure, Kurt's eager to discover how she'll respond to to him replacing his fingers with his cock. "Do you want— Are you ready?" he asks

She opens her eyes sluggishly. "Yes," she says.

It's a little awkward then: Kurt withdrawing his messy hand to wipe it off on his thigh, and Rachel sitting up to lean over to her nightstand, rummaging with some urgency. "I'm sure I have condoms," she says, "but it's been a while since I—"

"I have some," Kurt offers. He's got a new box in his room, unopened.

"Found one!" she says, turning back with a breathless smile. And then she seems to startle a bit; she stares at him as if he only just appeared in her bed. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You and me, like this."

"We don't have t—"

"I want to. I, um..." she cocks her head and lowers her gaze. "I really want to."

"Yeah," Kurt says, and he's abruptly unsure how to arrange himself. "How do you want to do this?"

"How do you want to?"

Kurt shrugs. "You've got more experience, so... whatever's best for you."

"All right," Rachel walks on her knees toward him, presses him back with an eager smile and straddles his thighs. "Then, I'll go on top."

"Sure," he says. "Okay." That should make it easier.

She puts the condom on him with impatient fingers. Then she's shuffling up until her knees are pressed against his sides, and she's guiding him back with her hand. "Ready?" she asks.

Kurt can only nod for she doesn't wait for a reply. She's sinking down his cock; a yielding, sultry glide. Within her is bliss and shelter, and Kurt lets his head fall back as his hands skim up her torso to frame the soft swell of her breasts. This is what he's been craving, this utterly fundamental connection. It's undeniable, the compulsion and pleasure that ripples up his spine, unlocking, as it goes, the yearning he's kept so tightly contained. His mouth comes open, but no sound escapes.

"Kurt, _oh_ ," Rachel says, working her hips in small circular movements as she takes him deeper; it's soft and snug and slick. "Oh, you're... you feel really... amazing." Rachel sighs and groans, lifts back up, pushes back down, and Kurt tries to catch his breath as he watches her move, as he _feels_ her move; and experiencing both of these things together is warping the space around him into a dreamlike haze. He caresses her breasts, squeezes as she sways above him. She smiles crookedly and takes his hands, brings them down to her hips as if she wants him to show her what he wants, but Rachel doesn't require any guidance; she moves with an instinctive grace, rolling her hips forward as she rises, pressing back down eagerly. "Kurt," she says.

He watches his thumbs smooth over the hard crescents of her hipbones.

"Kurt," she says again, leaning down over him, her hair cascades in a heat trapping canopy around his face and shoulders. Her breath is humid between them. " _Kurt_."

Kurt realizes he's meant to respond. "Yeah?"

"Does it feel good? Do I feel good to you?"

"Yeah... you do," he whispers. Being engulfed in the supple heat of her is fantastic. "You feel incredible."

"I'm glad," she says, and she kisses him. Kurt opens his mouth for her, and her tongue slips and curls along his to keep pace with the lazy swivel and thrust of her pelvis, the flex and flux of her around him. He breathes with her as his hands wander up the warm slope of her back, tangle in her hair, cup her shoulders. And then back down, smooth strokes of his palms, down to her lush backside, over her rounded hips, and silky thighs.

She straightens as she takes him further, in gradual building waves of intensity, a seductive ebb and flow of sensation, and he lets the pleasure roll in like the tide. He can lose himself here, not completely—never completely, maybe not ever again completely—but he can give in to his body's drive toward release, to the animal instinct that has his hands tightening upon Rachel's hips, his spine curling, pushing up and grinding deeper within her.

"Yeah... like that," Rachel says.

So he shoves harder—and then quicker too—and Rachel gasps and arches and murmurs more encouragement. The shape of her breasts high upon her rib cage makes him think of Greek sculpture come to life. She pushes herself against his body and into his hold, her movements transitioning from finesse to something more frenzied. Her hands fly to his forearms, hanging on as they move together.

"Perfect..." she says, rolling her hips in a fast and fierce arc. "Oh, _God_ , that's _perfect_."

"Is this, umm... enough?" he asks, gripping her tight against him as he drives up hard.

"Yes," she says, then more emphatically, " _Yes_... just a little bit more—"

He didn't think it was possible for her to go even quicker, but she does. Sharp, staccato jerks against him, that have Kurt's spine bowing and his breath choking him at the sudden onslaught. He cannot not come, so he does, blissfully—just lets go inside her as she rides him out hard. And she doesn't relent, bearing down upon him brutally—as he reels and feebly tries to keep moving for her—until she cries out loud ( _so loud_ ) and high and quakes all around him.

Then they're done, and it all melts into a blur of bodily relief and exhaustion and a quiet marveling.

"Wow," he says, petting clumsily at her sweat damp skin as she catches her breath and carefully moves to disengage their bodies.

"That's a good wow I hope," Rachel says, and she helps him sit up.

"Yeah," he says, looks at her cautiously. "Good for you too?"

Rachel grins and rolls her eyes. "Yes."

Kurt gets the condom off and in the trash, and then Rachel pulls him back down to lie with her. "Post coital cuddles are not optional," she says, squirming against him to find the most comfortable arrangement.

He laughs. "You know I didn't expect much more than a hand job and a cuddle," he says. "I would've been perfectly happy with that."

Rachel shrugs and strokes over his chest. "You know me. I'll seize every opportunity I can to exceed expectations."

"True," he says and smiles. He runs his fingers through her hair, gently working out any tangles he finds. As he does so, he lets the heaviness of the afterglow take him into a familiar place of comfort. Rachel is warm beside him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her naked body smooth and warm and providing a feeling of affection and connection; it's easy to drift with bliss in his bones and every muscle still glimmering with fading pleasure, warm and easy. For the first time in months, he has peace of heart. He doesn't realize the danger of letting go in this moment until it's too late.

At first it's just a gentle, unguarded upwelling of memory, of sense, of emotion, of happiness with Blaine. Of the way Blaine's fingers would idly wander his cooling skin, how he would smile and smile and nuzzle against Kurt's cheek. How sometimes his eyes would be so bright with unshed tears, and in those times, how he couldn't speak immediately after. How vulnerable and bared to Kurt Blaine always was after they'd—

Kurt wonders if the other guy, whoever he was, held Blaine after. But Kurt only wonders for an instant, because he knows—instantly—that the answer is _no_. Blaine said—insisted—it didn't mean anything.

Breath abandons him again so quickly. Understanding rips him open in all the places he's kept so assiduously stitched together. His stomach feels like it's crawling up his throat.

"I'm sorry—" is all he manages before he's struggling free from Rachel's embrace, staggering away from the bed, and hurrying toward the bathroom, hand over his mouth.

"Kurt?" Rachel calls out behind him. She sounds like she's at the end of a tunnel, and Kurt is on his knees before the toilet, pushing the lid up with clumsy, numb hands.

The porcelain is cold, the water tranquil: a patient receptacle. And somehow, though Kurt's eyes burn and blur and his lungs shudder, balking at each breath he tries to take in, it's enough to calm him so that he doesn't throw up. Which is good, because it feels like if he did, it would only be his heart he would vomit up. He wonders if that would be a relief from the horror of his realization: Blaine was in pain long before he hooked up with that guy, and he's only been in more pain since. He cut his own fucking heart out right along with Kurt's. Why?

_"What am I supposed to do? Hold my breath?"_

Pieces of their past conversations swarm up from Kurt's memory: exchanges Kurt thought he'd understood, but he now knows he didn't understand at all. Things Blaine said, trying to tell Kurt, and Kurt didn't hear him. Blaine was struggling to keep believing in their future, and with the distance between them and Kurt's distractions, his trust in Kurt was faltering day by day. It was something Blaine had tried to tell him, something Kurt didn’t hear, for how could Blaine doubt them? Kurt was so certain—too certain—he was oblivious to Blaine's uncertainty. Blaine needed someone in that terrible moment when his faith failed, and he didn't have anyone who he believed still loved him.

_"I needed you around, and you weren't there. And I was lonely..."_

Lonely. Kurt has an idea of what that feels like now, the urgent desperation, except he's lucky enough to have Rachel here with him. And in that moment he knows—knows—that it wasn't because Blaine stopped loving him. It wasn't Blaine's love that failed any more than Kurt's had. They just... Neither of them knew. Kurt doesn't have an inkling how they could have fallen so far out of sync, only that they did. He doesn't know how to even begin to fix it, only that he wants to try.

"Kurt!" Rachel says, closer, worried, and then Kurt can see her in his peripheral vision, coming to stand in the open doorway to the bathroom, still nude. And then it's just a panicky stream of Rachel talking overtaking him: "Oh, God, was it that bad? You're freaking out. I freaked you out. What have I done? Please don't barf, I couldn't stand it. I don't want to make you _barf_. I should have never... I'm so sorry. Kurt! Please, just talk to me. I'm sorry. Oh, no, you're crying. Why are you crying? Please, Kurt, what's wrong? What did I do?"

There's a long pause in which Rachel takes a deep breath. "Kurt," she says quietly, tears clogging her voice. "I can't bear losing you too."

It's the 'too' that snaps him back. His face feels like wax as he tries to move it back into a calmer expression and forces himself to speak. "Rachel," he says; it comes out hoarse and quiet. "You're not losing me."

"I'm not?" she asks in her small, scared voice. She comes to him then, kneeling behind him on the bathmat and resting one hand gingerly upon his back. "But you're not okay," she says. "Did I—"

"Not you," Kurt says, swallows both his tears and his heart back down his throat.

"Then...?"

And Kurt says the name that has not passed his lips for months. "Blaine," he says, and saying it is enough to slice through the complex knot of anguish stuffing up his lungs and strangling his heart. The awful anger and grief unravels and falls away, replaced by a realization that is both brand new and old as his soul. Fresh tears well up hot behind his eyes; he lets them come. "I still love him." The truth of it strikes him with the resonant frequency of revelation. Kurt closes his eyes and breathes, deep clear breaths. "So much."

"Of course you do," Rachel says, rubbing across his shoulders. "He's your first love. Part of you will always love him. But, it'll hurt less with time, and I'll be here for you, always."

"You're a good friend," Kurt says, reaching over his shoulder to put his hand over hers. But before he can continue to explain that he doesn't want to get over Blaine, she's speaking again.

"Is that... Is that all we are, Kurt? Just friends?" There's such a fragile hope in her voice, and what she's asking, Kurt can't fathom it.

"Rachel? No, you'll never be just a friend." Kurt turns to face her, sees the watery fear in her eyes along with the hope. "Sweetie," he says gently, reaches to brush her hair from where her tears have stuck it to her face. He cups her cheek, and she turns her face into his palm. "You'll always be so much more than that to me, but..."

Her shoulders shudder, and she gasps against his hand.

"Just—" He stops, swallows; knows he has to be careful and feels horribly unprepared for this moment. "—not... I mean, we aren't—"

"I know," Rachel nods and squeezes her eyes shut. "I know, Kurt." She leans back, her cheek comes stickily away from his palm. She wraps her slim fingers around his wrist, brings it down until she's holding his hand loosely in her lap.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I'm fine," she says and summons up her best show smile. He doesn't believe it.

Now they sit, both of them naked, with puffy red eyes and tear streaked faces, broken-hearted, confused, sitting on the cold bathroom floor at some ridiculously early hour, when no more than fifteen or twenty minutes ago they were in bed together, hot and enthralled together, and he was _inside_ her. It's not possible for him to dissemble.

"I'm sorry," he says. Did he take advantage? There's part of him that isn't surprised, that Rachel may feel something more for him than he can reciprocate. He hates himself a little bit for that: that on some level he already knew.

"Please don't be sorry," Rachel says. "The last thing I'd want is for you to _regret_ it. I don't expect you to..." she trails off with a shrug. "Just... being with you, it felt like— It reminded me of everything I've lost."

"I do love you," Kurt says. "I know it's not the same, but..." He doesn't wish for Rachel to have regrets either. "We made a good memory, didn't we?"

She nods, but her bottom lip still trembles. Kurt doesn't know if he should reach for her or not, if there's any genuine comfort he can offer her. He may have realized he's still in love with Blaine, but Rachel, she's still mired in her irretrievable loss, and he had the arrogance to offer her a simulacrum of the love she misses while believing it wouldn't hurt her. Or he was just so wrapped up in his own head he was blind to her heart. It's a sickening moment of reflection, to see how oblivious he's been, to Blaine, to Rachel, to— He doesn't know who else, but he's sure there are others. He's apparently too self-absorbed to even know.

"I'm sorry," he says again. "Not for what we did, but for being so selfish."

Rachel shakes her head. "We're both selfish, Kurt. We've had to be."

With a shrug Kurt says, "I still feel like an ass. I haven't been fair to you... or to Blaine." Kurt sighs. "I really need to talk to him, to tell him. I hope it's not too late."

"Tell him what?"

"That I still love him, that I still want him as part of my future." Kurt smiles wearily. "That I want to find a way to forgive him, because not forgiving him hurts too much."

Rachel shivers and pulls her knees up to her chest, ankles crossed, and wraps her arms around her shins. "It's not too late," she says. "Blaine still loves you. Desperately."

"You think so?"

"Of course he does. I know you weren't looking, but _I_ saw how he looked at you. Honestly, Kurt, you have no idea how hard it is to not be in love with you. He'll never be over you."

"What about us?" Kurt asks. "Are we going to be okay?"

Rachel lifts her chin and gives him a more sincere smile. "Of course we are. Soulmates, right?"

He smiles and nods; then he stands and offers Rachel his hand. She takes it and rises; her hand is frigid. "You're cold," he says. "Come back to bed? I mean, so long as you want to, and it wouldn't be too weird?"

"It would be less weird than lying in bed alone, pretending none of this just happened."

He can't fault her logic. "All right," he says, and he lets her lead him back to her room.

They put their pajamas back on in silence, and Kurt brushes and braids Rachel's hair for her. Then they get under the covers. Kurt hesitates only a moment before opening his arms for her to snuggle close.

"You owe me brunch tomorrow," Rachel says, and Kurt is relieved at the familiar note of imperious declaration in her voice. "And after that you can call Blaine."

Kurt smiles against the crown of her head. "Good night, Rachel," he says.

**the end**


End file.
